most often abode-he found opportunity enough for indulging his tastes; Hawkwood was not over-careful in detecting the misdemeanours of his followers, so long as they interfered not with duty; and on this point Malatesta was faultless. However deep the debauch overnight, the morning always found him alert and clearheaded-ready to carry out any orders whatsoever with his wary hardihood. Directly he was free, he would betake himself straightway to the taverns and stews in which his soul delighted-sowing crowns broadcast amongst ribaudes and roisterers. Play kept his gipsire always full; for at Bordeaux he encountered no such misadventure as had befallen him at Calais.

This chronicle does not aver, that whilst he tarried on the banks of the Garonne, Ralph Brakespeare bore himself always after the fashion that would have befitted Sir Galahad's esquire, or a Templar holding fast to his vow. When he confessed himself—which at certain seasons he failed not do-he had, perhaps, as many venial sins to avow as some of his comrades who bore themselves more noisily and jovially; but of broken troth, or ruin of any woman's honour, he could not accuse himself. The blood of Gascony is hotter than its wine; and the dark eyes of more than one fair Bordelaise had looked approvingly -perhaps longingly-on the stalwart figure and gallant bearing of the English esquire; marvelling half-pityingly, what should make so young a face look so grave. And, more than once, white hands had beckoned stealthily from lattices; or a flower had dropped at his feet as he passed by: for coquetry was not in its infancy even then, and such simple devices prevailed, be sure, north as well as south of the Pyrenees. But pride shrinking from the amour bourgeois-for in this class were the temptresses chiefly found-rather than shyness or coldness, kept Ralph's feet safe and clear of the snares. He was not specially cold, or continent, or tender of conscience; but he chose to take his pleasure in places where he troubled no man's peace, and where he could bring on no woman further dishonour than what she had already taken on herself of freewill.

And so, four years passed on; during which the bold Duke of Lancaster, waxing weary, like many another, of the broils of France and Navarre-of petty skirmishes of partisans and mock proposals of peace -travelled eastward to keep his sword bright in war against the infidel. How in that adventure he miscarried-how through practice of the Duke of Brunswick he fell for awhile into captivity-how, returning, he libelled the Duke's treachery on Cologne cathedral door-how,

after interchange of challenge, those two met in the Pré aux Clercs, and were made friends by the royal arbiter, without issue of battle;-all this is set down in the records of the time. And, every day, things were growing riper for the struggle, final and decisive, betwixt the banners, gules and azure, whose semblances watchmen on Southampton battlements saw bristling in the midnight sky.

But, before the armies were drawn out in array, there happened somewhat which-in nowise affecting the fortunes of nations-had much to do with those of Ralph Brakespeare.

CHAPTER XIX.

HACQUEMONT.

THE truce or succession of truces-was, as you have heard, very imperfectly observed along all the seaboard from Artois to Bearn. Those in Gascony and Guienne were not less eager than their fellows in the north to infringe it, whensoever and wheresoever they could find fair excuse or chance. The turbulent spirit in those parts was not likely to be checked or allayed by Ralph of Stafford, who commanded then as King Edward's captain-general. That valiant earl, soon after he landed, had been himself engaged; encountering the enemy in force under John de Clermont, marshal of France, and defeating them with shrewd loss; and it was well known that he would be more apt to applaud than reprehend any act of successful daring, though it involved open breach of the peace.

In the early spring of the year of grace 1355-the last pretence of truce being appointed to expire at the end of the May following-some threescore English got privily under cover of night into the Castle of Nantes, and held it till Guy de Rochefort, governor of the town, brake in by dint of numbers, and slew them to a man. News of this reversealbeit it was not a grave one, and far removed beyond his own province -caused Stafford to chafe mightily, and to hanker for reprisals. So, with little delay, he sent forth Sir Walter Breckenridge-a captain of approved valour and experience-at the head of some six score mounted archers, with the avowed purpose of exploring the country to the north-east of the Garonne, and bringing in supplies; but with secret orders to lose no chance of damaging the adversary, or even of occupying any fortified places that could easily be surprised.

With this company rode forth Sir John Hawkwood and his following. For some three days they advanced steadily into the interior, till they struck the southern bank of the Dordogne, a little to the west of Bergerac, without having seen the flutter of a French pennon, or lighted on any fortalice important enough, either from size or site, to tempt assault. Neither, up to this point, had Breckenridge cared to cumber himself with heavy plunder; choosing to defer the gathering of supplies until his face was turned seawards again. On the fourth day, they halted some two hours before sunset in a valley not far from Biron; and the sun not being fully set-sent forth scouts to explore the country round, which, just here, was somewhat hilly and thickly wooded. These returned ere it was fully night, having seen no trace of foe, and no place more considerable than the small straggling town of Biron; this-though it might easily be occupied, might hardly be held. But, scarce more than a league from the spot of encampment, they had descried a castle, which Breckenridge guessed at once would be well worth capture.

Position, rather than great size or strength, made Hacquemont valuable. Occupying the entire plateau of a steep eminence, it commanded, not only an extensive view over the valley of the Dordogne and Corvéze, but also the road along which the main traffic of the country passed: for the hills here formed almost a defile. Some of the scouts had crept up under cover of the underwood, almost within bowshot of the walls, and reported that the place seemed very scantily guarded. Moreover, on their way back, they had laid hands on a peasant, from whom, doubtless, fuller information might be drawn. The prisoner was a sullen-looking boor; with the heavy jaw, low brow, and small cunning eyes, that are found near, as well as within the borders of Auvergne. So soon as he recovered from his first fright, he never hesitated betwixt threat of a halter and a bribe of a few silver coins; and told readily enough all that he knew of the castle and its inhabitants. Neither was this treachery unnatural or strange; there was little love in those days betwixt seigneur and villein; nay-the seeds were sown long ago, that a few years later ripened into a black crop of rapine and murder, when, for a brief space, the Jacquerie worked their will.

It appeared that the Baron of Hacquemont had in his youth and manhood won great renown in arms; but, some ten years back, in one of the chance-medleys preceding Creçy, had gotten a lance-thrust in the body, and had been so sorely trampled by horse-hoofs, that from that day he never could back destrier or endure weight of harness.

So, ever since, he had tarried in his castle, peaceably enough, neither molested nor molesting any; keeping there but feeble garrison: every retainer and vassal that could possibly be spared he ever sent forth to do service in the wars; relying, somewhat over-confidently, on the good will of his neighbours. For-as the clown averred with rather an ill grace-the baron was well esteemed and beloved throughout the country-side. Indeed, his repute for piety and courtesy stood so high that, albeit he had been long a widower, certain noble demoiselles of Guienne much affected the society of his two unmarried daughters; looking on Hacquemont as a safe and honourable asylum, even in such troublous times.

Notwithstanding this fair report, Breckenridge felt neither scruple nor remorse in planning the surprise of Hacquemont: only he gave strict charge to all concerned therein to shed no blood needlessly, and to have special care of the safety of the castellan and his family.

While it was yet night, some fifty archers concealed themselves in the brushwood, which in some places grew nearly up to the edge of the castle ditch, and waited their opportunity. Soon after dawn, the drawbridge was lowered, and an empty wain, drawn by two horses and driven by a peasant, came forth. Scarcely had it cleared the archway of the barbican, when from the ambush went "St. the up cry, George Guienne!" and near a score of the fleetest-footed had cast themselves on the drawbridge, before the ancient warder recovered from his panic, or could bestir himself to raise it. Ten minutes after, the flutter of his own banner from the battlements of the keep told Breckenridge, who with the rest of his force was now near at hand, that Hacquemont was won: won, too, without bloodshed; for the scanty garrison rendered themselves without show of resistance, and the castellan, who had not arisen, was made prisoner almost in his couch.

Now ever since, on the night before, the enterprise of the morrow was bruited through the English encampment, Ralph Brakespeare had been unwontedly pensive and grave. At first he was affected by a vague bewilderment, common to all men who encounter some sight or sound that seems strangely familiar to them; though they may not remember where they have seen or heard it before.

Hacquemont.

For a long while Ralph racked his brain, to account to himself for the start and thrill that the first mention of the word sent through his frame but gradually the lines of a dim memory stood out sharp

and clear, till every feature of the picture was vivid, as though it had been limned yester even.

The weary watch amongst the sandhills-the flutter of pennon over the alder-clump-the glisten of broidered surcoat and gleam of gay armour-the merry, musical voice ringing out its war-cry-the dizzy crash of the joust-the red westering sun lighting up the perfect face, that even the death-pang could not deform-the last faint whisper of the white lips-all these things came back to him; and once more his heart melted with regret and self-reproach, as it had melted amidst the flush of his first triumph, when he looked down on the corpse of his foe.

He remembered how, in those days, he had often caught himself wondering, what manner of demoiselle it was who had been honoured by De Chastelnaye's love--whether, after the year of mourning was expired, she had been easily consoled; or if she still lived a maid for her true knight's sake. If so it was, in all likelihood she was abiding at Hacquemont even now. And he-Ralph Brakespeare-who had dealt the first blow to her hope and happiness, was brought here by the chances of war and duty, to trouble and vex her once more. months and months he had been pining for chance of enterprise; Now that it had come, he loathed it bitterly, and felt great relief at hearing Sir Walter Breckenridge's merciful orders, and at learning that he himself-would have naught to do with the actual assault.

For

Thus moodily the esquire rode in his place over the drawbridge into the great courtyard; where, under the arched doorway of the keep, the Baron of Hacquemont awaited his captors-a tall old man, wrapped in a furred gown, and propped on a staff, with thin grey hair, and traces of long illness on his worn features; bearing himself neither timidly nor defiantly, but rather with the quiet confidence of one loath to suspect in others the discourtesy to which he had never abased himself.

Sir Walter Breckenridge was not a whit softer of mood, or more scrupulous, than his brothers-in-arms: yet he felt strangely ashamed of his exploit-almost inclined to excuse it as he leapt from saddle, and approached the castellan, bowing his head in salute.

"I grieve much, fair lord"-he said-"that my duty and mine orders have enforced me thus to trouble your peace, and invade your dwelling. But apprehend not, I pray you, violence or rough usage. We are not base marauders, like Bacon and his fellows, and affect no booty save what is fairly ours by the laws of war. It is